Consumed
by Sesshomaru-bishounen
Summary: I am lost. I am seeking. A Dante x Vergil oneshot. Nelo Angelo fights Dante and the results are a bit different than what he expected, but Vergil's regrets are Dante's sorrow and the brother's bond is stronger than blood. Yaoi lemon included.


**THIS IS YAOI AND TWINCEST! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dante and Vergil, if anything, they belong to each other.**

**This drabble is dedicated to _VergilSparda666_. If anyone, she deserves these two richly. She is the master, I am simply the lowly admirer. **

**No one writes DxV like you, you have given me great pleasure with your writing.**

**On to the story.**

Oo.oO

I'm lost.

I'm seeking.

What it is that eludes me, I don't know. It's something vital; I realize that, something that I should not be without. Something that is in my very soul like a strange, entrancing flame. It's almost hypnotizing, the tantalizing glimpses I get from my innermost self.

There's something indescribably beautiful about this missing puzzle piece.

Not that I can remember much at all. I live to serve. I do what I'm told, an assassin of the highest quality. Just watch me stalk the corridors of the Underworld. Even here I am feared.

But the cowering of terrified thralls and the nearly mindless submission of vicious minions is unfulfilling. I want what I cannot remember.

I _ache_ for it.

It's this knowledge of a peace and safety that have gone astray. It lingers on the edge of my perceptions like the aftertaste of some sweet vintage. A blissful existence, which must have been so stark a contrast to this dark hellish life I live now, that traces of it seep through all that has been driven into me by Mundus and his underlings. It must have been powerful to stay with me like this.

I'm starting to believe that a person was the foundation for this unforgettable solace.

My mind conjures up feelings, whispers of touch when no one is there. Gentle, calloused fingers on my face, phantom caresses that drive me nearly mad.

I am Nelo Angelo, I am supposed to feel nothing.

I am a cruel, heartless bastard and I am supposed to _like _it! But now, when I say that, it makes me think that the only person I'm trying to convince is myself.

What have I left behind that could possibly be this essential? I have power. And plenty of it. There is nothing beyond my grasp! Nothing! I have everything that I have wished for, don't I?

I'm taking up Yamato, and I'm going out again. To come face to face with my fiercest enemy is my intent. That is when I feel alive, when I am in battle, and this is to be my ultimate fight, and one I cannot afford to lose.

There's that word again.

Lose, loss….and emptiness….

Will I find my fulfillment tonight? Or is the defeat of my opponent simply going to drive another wedge into the crack that already threatens to tear me apart. All this surety is an illusion, and I cannot grasp the reality that I want, no, need, so very badly. It's like being locked away in a cold shell, and watching the world go by, surreal, an onlooker, unable to change anything. Anything at all. This includes my own actions, apparently.

I am ice. Frozen and without feeling.

I am darkness. Despair and pain are the only emotions that I can cause in others.

There is no light in this dungeon that life has built around me. There is no escape from the chains that bind, and somehow I know….

Killing Dante Sparda will only reinforce these shackles.

But perhaps…in his death I will find clues to what is supposed to fill this gaping hole in my heart. The one I'm not supposed to have.

Oo.oO

There is blood, so much blood, staining the ground around us a blessed crimson.

I've always found comfort in its color, the red somehow reminding me of something else entirely. Yet another whisper of that illusive reassurance.

I know I'm in serious trouble. Even my demonic healing abilities are unable to compensate for all the blood I'm loosing. But I look even at this, my own doom, with the same cool indifference I see everything else in. When I stumble and fall, it doesn't matter.

Power was just a means to an end. To what end?

If it was this end, so be it.

I just lie there, numb, knowing that he is coming towards me. I fully expect him to do what he has to. If he doesn't I may very well recover, to come after him again. I sense more than see him kneel beside me. And when he rolls me onto my back, he isn't rough, as one would expect from one's deadliest enemy, but instead handles me as if I might break.

Ironic, as he is the one who did the breaking.

I make a grab for his throat, with a strength I should not have had at this moment in time. And he, as a reflex, snatches up my sword, which had fallen from my fingers but seconds before, and drives it through my chest. You're training is flawless, I admire that.

Pain blossoms, threatening to consume me, ravaging my body like a storm. I haven't felt like this for so very long. But emotions rise to the surface that I hadn't known were there, and they brought back so many things.

Rational thought was somehow returned to me with the agony, an agony that was now not so much physical but on an entirely different level. Bonds released along with the floodgates of memory, Nelo Angelo is forced to submit defeat to the lurking presence that is more fully Vergil Sparda, the one that is cold, but not heartless.

What have I done?

Dante…what have I done to you?

What have I done to us?

There is blood covering Dante's coat, but you can barely see it, it matches his coat so perfectly.

Now I understand. The crimson color of blood….it reminds me of him.

His eyes, so blue…they are so sad now, as they gaze down upon me. I feel I have tread on holy ground, that I have tainted something perfect, my Dante.

No. Not mine anymore, I don't deserve that. I deserve the death he is giving me, nothing more.

Yamato is now on the ground beside us, I don't know when he removed it, I felt nothing.

He is leaning down toward me now, his hand hovers above my face, as if aching to touch me. I know I shouldn't, but I cannot help myself. What the hell. If I'm going to die, then let me have this, this blissful minute where I can have what I've yearned toward for so long. I reach up, my fingers coming into my own range of vision. They are covered in blood.

At least it is my own this time.

I grasp his hand, pulling it to rest against my cheek, savoring the warmth of him. The crimson of my life fluids stains his own slender fingers. Yet another metaphor, a symbol of what I have done to him. God, I don't deserve him, I never did.

I wonder why he hasn't drawn back in revulsion. He has every right too. His own brother, who said that he loved him, had hunted him like an animal, had tried to murder him.

How could I have done that? He is so sorrowful now as he looks at me, and I know that I am the reason for all that sadness and pain.

I see his eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

Tears?

Don't cry for me, Dante, I'm not worth it.

You know you must finish this. It's what I deserve. Please Dante…kill me. It's what I want, I couldn't live with myself now.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he takes out Ebony, cocking the gun and placing it at my temple. It will be sweet release.

He is so beautiful.

I am ice.

He is fire.

I am darkness

He is light.

Even in this moment of utter despair he is lovely. Like a tragic sculpture carved flawlessly by a master of the craft.

I lean into his palm, his other hand still entrapped in mine, savoring the touch which we once exchanged so freely. Oh how I love him. How could I possibly have forgotten what he meant to me?

"Dante…" The sound of his name is barely to be heard as it escapes my lips unbidden.

He tenses, I can feel it, as he is nearly atop me in his closeness. "Vergil?" His voice is quiet, unsure…something I rarely hear from my brash little brother who usually exudes confidence in excess.

But I want to tell him. Before he gives me the punishment I so richly deserve, I have to tell him.

"I'm sorry, Dante…" I know this sounds pathetic, given all that I have done, my malicious deeds to great in number to count accurately, but yet I hope for his forgiveness all the same. Even as he damns me to hell I want his forgiveness, despite what he must do. "I love you."

And that's the God-given truth.

He's making no effort to stop the tears that flow streaming down his face now. And my fast-fading heart somehow wrenches at the sight.

I didn't want it to be this way.

I was supposed to protect him.

I was supposed to cherish him.

I failed.

Worse than failed.

The darkness clouds my vision, and a hell awaits where I am not the master. I keep my eyes fixed on his, so beautifully blue and shimmering they are. I'm entranced even as I descend into unconsciousness, the unknowing that leads to death.

It's a small mercy that I will not have to feel him pull the trigger.

Oo.oO

I smell something.

It's a familiar scent, a sweet, comforting one….rosewood and almonds.

Strange. I wouldn't think hell would be an aromatic experience.

It's warm, true enough, but not the uncomfortable scorching kind, but the safe, secure sort that makes you want to snuggle into the bedcovers on a winter morning.

Speaking of beds…

My eyes fly open as I take in my surroundings.

I am indeed in a bed, the blankets draped over me, effectively creating a cocoon of warmth. But my second realization is far more intimidating.

There is another warm body pressing against my back, and I can feel an arm draping possessively across my stomach. Well that narrows things down a bit, there are few people who would touch me like this.

Well, there's only one I can think of at the moment whom I would submit to his touch willingly. But I'm afraid that's too much to hope.

With my luck, I'm probably Satan's personal play-toy.

Oh joy.

I push emotions aside. Force of habit I suppose, and take in the room around me. Not dingy, but not the best place on earth either. The caretaker of this bedroom apparently doesn't believe in the "neatness is next to Godliness" principle, either that or they just don't care. There are clothes on the floor and several of the dresser drawers are ajar. I can get just a glance into the bathroom and it's in a similar state of messiness.

There's also assorted trash scattered around the room.

Ah. The emotions are back.

Because I very much doubt that Satan is that fond of pizza. I don't think anyone is save my dearest younger sibling.

Dante.

The hand about my waist that's clinging to me as if it would save their life, it belongs to my brother. The body that is a mirror image of my own is the one which is radiating a pleasant heat behind me. And his presence is the one which makes me feel secure.

I shift slowly, I want to look at him. My wounds, serious though they were have already healed to the extent where they are hardly more than an inconvenient twinge when I move. And it doesn't matter anyway.

He looks even younger when he's sleeping. Those perfect lips are parted gently in sleep and wisps of his silver-white hair frame his face with several unruly locks falling across his eyes and nose. That's the scent of rosewood and almonds…now that I remember, it's what his shampoo smells like. He looks more angelic than the devil that he is.

I don't know how long I lay there, simply drinking in the sight of him. Even though we're identical twins, it's not quite like looking in the mirror. There's something about my brother that is entirely unique to him, it's what makes him Dante instead of just one of the Sparda twins.

When we were young no one could tell us apart. It used to annoy the hell out of my impulsive younger brother. So naturally, I changed my hairstyle to accommodate him. Not that I ever told him that that was the reason I had done it. I've always been just petty enough not to give him the satisfaction.

My fingers gently brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. Stupid of me, really. I know how Dante can be, and he most definitely has never been a morning person. I had simply fallen into a habit so old that it was very nearly an instinct.

I had forgotten that we'd been trying to kill each other the last time I was awake.

And now that I'd remembered, all the pain came rushing back, in tandem with the vise-like grip that threatened to snap my wrist. I really, really should not have woken Dante.

I didn't dare move with his hand latched to my arm like that, he was fiendishly unpredictable sometimes and I wasn't about to antagonize him. His eyelids fluttered open, like the wings of some delicate species of butterfly, to reveal those sky-blue orbs. Even though his gaze was bleary from sleep he was still breathtaking.

But all it took was a couple of blinks for him to reach full awareness. He looked at me as if I was some sort of alien who had been beamed down into his room and then crawled into bed with him.

Had I not been so depressed about recent events I might have been hurt by that look. He had put me here after all.

"Verge?" his voice sounded hoarse, but I supposed that was simply because he had just been given a rude awakening, by me no less. Either that or it was fear making him sound that way, the fear that was now mirrored in his eyes. Along with a hardness.

I knew even now he would kill me if he had too. Not that he would wish it, but he would if I didn't recognize him for who he was:

Warrior. Brother. Lover.

My Dante.

But was he mine anymore?

I didn't merit the mercy he had shown me. I had indeed been a monster. As I had taken the name of Nelo Angelo, I had also taken on a new self, so to speak, and he had been so different from me. Certainly different from the feelings I was experiencing now. Nelo didn't know regret, sadness, and most certainly not love.

I loved Dante.

Nelo Angelo had hurt Dante.

I richly warranted whatever chastisement my brother saw fit to bestow me. I closed my eyes, remembering all to vividly all the sins I had committed. I felt like I would choke on the heartbreak. My emotions ran wild, threatening to strangle me. Dante. Dante. I'm so sorry.

I felt a muffled sob escape my lips, and the tears I had been attempting desperately to hold back were leaking from closed lids.

Hurt me, Dante. It's all I'm good for. Kill me. Please.

"Why didn't you kill me?" I whispered, sounding as broken as I felt.

I felt him release his death-grip on my wrist, his fingers instead moving to brush away the tears staining my cheeks. His body moving closer to mine, the hand which had laid claim to me while he had slept now drawing soothing circles on my back.

No, Dante, not this. Don't be tender; don't love me. You can't love a monster. Go find someone as perfect as yourself.

"Stop that." I can feel the warm rush of his breath on my ear when he speaks.

I blink at him, startled, "Stop what?" I ask, confused.

His finger taps the medallion on his chest, a small smile gracing his features, "Stop berating yourself. I can feel all those negative thoughts your exuding. Not quite word for word, but enough to know how hard you're being on yourself."

He's going to make me cry again if he keeps this up.

"It's true and you know it, Dante." I try to glare at him, but I can tell I'm not doing so well, I'm vainly trying to reign in my emotions. It seems that now that I've let them back out they aren't in any big hurry to be locked away again.

I can't meet his eyes, so I look away, "Now answer me. Why didn't you kill me? You had every right…hell, you had more than enough right to shoot me after what I've done to you."

Strong fingers wrapped themselves around my chin, forcing my face upwards to meet my brother's gaze, "Dammit, Vergil, cut the shit."

Then he pulled me up as he came down and our lips met in a bruising kiss.

I lost myself.

It was hungry; it was needy. All the passion and fire that was Dante seemed to wrap themselves into that kiss. And when his tongue forced its way into my mouth I didn't protest, I needed this almost as much as he did. He devoured my mouth eagerly, as if he'd never tasted something so wonderful in all his life, our tongues writhed and intertwined in a dance that felt purely male. I wanted him to know how much I'd missed him. I could feel a fire building inside me and it was only a kiss. I'd almost forgotten how good he was.

He broke away only when the need for air made it mandatory.

"That's why." He panted breathlessly, his eyes glazed with desire, "I love you, Verge, and I thought I'd give you another chance." He traced a finger along my collarbone, sending chills down my spine, "Besides," he continued, "You _did_ say you were sorry."

This caused me to divert my gaze again, "Yes…I'm so sorry, Dante. I-"

He cut me off with another forceful kiss, oh yes, that was my brother. I knew in an instant that he'd forgiven me completely and without regrets. Gods, I most certainly did not deserve this wondrous being.

When he pulled up, though, he gave me a smirk that was decidedly naughty, "How sorry are you?"

Before, had Dante said this I would have playfully smacked him and replied, "Not sorry enough to entrust myself to a scoundrel such as yourself."

But this was now, and I deserved to be damned, not loved. If Dante had asked that I cut off my own hand and hand it to him I would have done it. So now, what he asked of me seemed so little in comparison to my crimes.

And he still loved me.

Some angel must have taken me on as a problem case or else this was a dream, because it seemed to me that no one would forgive to unconditionally all the things I had done.

Dante had pushed me backwards, further into the pillows, his body nearly blanketed mine, all he had to do was descend an inch or so and he would be atop me.

I caressed his face ever so gently, "I'm sorry enough."

His eyes softened, and his smile was genuine, "Good. Because I've already forgiven you."

There's nothing like verbal confirmation.

I wrapped my arms around him, drawing our bodies flush against one another. The only thing the both of us were wearing was a light pair of sleeping pants. The feel of his naked chest against my own was more than enough to fuel the fire kindled by Dante's kisses. And when his mouth started moving, planting licks and nips down my neck and chest, I knew how the game was going to play out.

We both had missed one another for so very long. I knew it would be hard to keep control. But I hadn't counted on Dante.

He didn't just want sex, not tonight; this was something more for the both of us. Not just the renewing of the bonds between us, but something much, much more.

Always before, I had been the one on top. I'm a natural seme, and Dante has ever been my uke. But tonight was an exception, my little brother needed some sign, something to grasp, affirm that everything was real. I think we both needed this, and clung to it tonight.

And he didn't want any help from me. Every time I tried to return some of the pleasure he was bestowing on my body, he pushed me back, that same contented smile on his face. But his blue eyes flashing wickedly as he swirled his tongue around my nipple, teasing it lightly with his teeth before working his evil farther down, dipping into my navel and placing butterfly kisses on my lower abdomen.

Dante could be deliciously naughty when he so chose. And believe me, he chose.

It was rapturous, sensual torture, he traveled lower, removing my black pants in one fell swoop, and continuing his oral ministrations, everywhere but on the straining member that needed his attention most.

Damn, I think I taught him too well.

Apparently, Dante had had enough as well. He leaned back up and kissed me deeply, as I felt a finger enter me. I moaned softly into his mouth. Ah! You're killing me, Dante!

Two finger now, scissoring, stretching. He knows my body as well as I know his, almost…I know what he's searching for, but I was unprepared for it. But hell, I sure knew when he'd found it. His probing fingers found that one spot within me, and I saw stars. I moaned his name loudly, unable to contain my cries of pleasure.

I almost missed him reaching for the lube. What the hell was it doing under the bed? Oh well, that's Dante's organization for you. I could care less at the moment, I watched, transfixed as he prepared himself, slipping off his own pants and applying a liberal amount of lube to his own sizable erection. He positioned himself above me and I relaxed, this was Dante.

He met my eyes, a question there, "Are you sure, Verge? I don't want – "

"Shhh…" I cut him off, "I trust you Dante, please…just finish it."

He entered me slowly, as if he was afraid I would shatter. And for a moment I felt I just might, the stretching was painful, after all, I'd never let him do this before, and if anything, the Sparda clan is well endowed.

Then he moved, and the line between pain and pleasure was crossed, he tried a couple experimental thrusts until he rediscovered that spot which he had found earlier, and directed his efforts there. His hands reached up and grasped my own, pulling them above my head as our fingers intertwined.

This wasn't hurried, it was nearly unbearably slow, but I knew why.

There is quite a difference between having sex, and making love, and my brother was demonstrating his love in every way he knew how. Dante had always been an attentive, affectionate lover. I don't know which of us was more romantically inclined, but Dante was certainly more into casual touching and cuddling than I was. He always looked out for me, always, and I tried to do the same for him. We had completed each other, like two halves to the same whole. I don't know how I survived without him.

He sped up slightly, and I moaned and writhed beneath him, helpless in the force of our lovemaking. This was passion, but it was also much more. He was talking softly too me still, telling me how much he had longed for me, how much he missed me.

I could feel my orgasm building, and I knew Dante wouldn't be far behind. I came with a white explosion that I couldn't stop. Damn, Dante was one decent seme. And I knew that had it been anyone other than me in the relationship, my brother would have indeed been dominant.

I was so lucky.

As I had predicted, Dante came seconds after I did, his seed spilling deep within me as he cried out my name. He collapsed atop me, both of us sweaty and spent, and we whispered "I love you's" softly in one another's ear.

As our rapid breathing slowed, Dante shifted so as to kiss me again. I knew we were both crying, I could taste the salt on his lips.

But this was different. Bittersweet. We had both lost so much, and tonight we had gained something.

It was hard to distinguish joy from the torrent of emotions raging between us, but we both knew it was there, as well as a fierce determination…

I spoke for both of us, "I'm never leaving you again, Dante. We'll be together now, always."

The air left him in a happy sigh, "Well that's good, because I'm not letting you run off without me, either."

Keeping one hand wrapped around my brother, and using the other to pull the sheet over our naked bodies, I nuzzled at his neck affectionately.

"I love you, Dante."

"And I love you as well, Verge."

As we fall asleep, our limbs tangled, I am content.

We'll both have to deal with our own issues, and there is much Dante has yet to know about what I have done, but I will never leave him willingly.

I'm no longer lost.

I've found my missing piece, the wholeness I was seeking.

I am ice, melted away by his fire.

I am darkness, purged by his light.

I look into his eyes, the windows to the soul…

And I am consumed.

-End-

……………………………………………………………………………………………

**Well, this story didn't turn out quite like I intended…aka the lemon.**

**Blame Dante. I wanted angst, he wanted to screw his brother.**

**Well, Review and tell me what you thought.**

**This was my first lemon. Ever. I'm kind of nervous as to how it turned out.**

**SO REVIEW! I BEG YOU!**


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